Between Cities
On loving and living in places we don’t choose.
This flash essay is part of a collaborative, constrained-writing challenge undertaken by some members of the Bangalore Substack Writers’ Group. Each of us examined the concept of ‘BANGALORE’ through our unique perspective, distilled into roughly 500 words. At the bottom of this snippet, you’ll find links to other essays by fellow writers.
Among the many questions I loathe—what I do for work, what it means to be a writer, why I don’t want kids—I also dislike being asked where I live.
Let me venture a guess. You were born in one place, but grew up someplace else. You studied in one city, but found work in another. Maybe your childhood was nomadic, because your folks switched jobs, changed homes, rotated their circle of friends. If you identify as a certain gender, then maybe you moved in the aftermath of an event called a wedding.
But, my story is different.
I was born and raised in Delhi, and never really left. I went to school, college, and university here. The only semblance of ‘real’ jobs I’ve ever had were here. My closest relationships have seeded, blossomed, and wilted here. Every alma mater, my first home, my forever home, and all the haunts in between, lie within a familiar radius on the map. And, so, it’s hardly inaccurate to say that my life belongs here.
But if you ask anyone, “Where is Richa’s home?”, the unmistakable, unthinking, unquestioning answer is “Bangalore.”
~
If you’ve been reading my work for a while, wading through the word count of each essay, you’re likely familiar with the plight of my living arrangement: I live between two homes, one in Delhi and the other in Bangalore. To some, this is a problem of plenty. To me, it is the invisible agony of constant choice. And, so, I exist in both homes simultaneously: corporeally in one, and in the silhouette of my absence in the other.
Growing up, I took Delhi for granted, indifferent to its offerings—the sprawling gardens that gladly engulf the city, the public parks that dot its map, the wide roads that admiringly meander around the magnificent monuments, the quaint buildings, the glorious museums. It wasn’t until I found myself stuck in Bangalore’s traffic, perhaps its most enduring cultural landmark, only to arrive at a noisy watering hole where existential dread is drowned in small talk, and every conversation begins and ends with a LinkedIn summary, that I realised what I had lost in leaving Delhi.
~
Through the many years that my partner and I were long-distance dating, my visits to Bangalore were just that—visits. It didn’t matter how long I spent here, or how many coffee mugs and bedsheets and towels I had to my name in the house that we shared. I simply wasn't expected to live here.
The change in my marital status immediately altered the nomenclature of my trips—I no longer visited, but resided in Bangalore. When I used to visit, I was expected to return, for no particular reason. I’m not expected to return anymore. It’ll be nice if I do, but it won’t matter if I don’t, because, like a dutiful wife, I must accept this as my home, as my place in the world, for no particular reason.
~
I am sometimes asked when I moved to Bangalore (because surely I must have moved!). My response betrays the uncertainty in my voice. When it feels safe, I admit that I haven't quite moved, because I have lost the distinction between visiting and residing. When your life fits into the dimensions of a single suitcase with plenty of room to spare, are you really moving?
Even as I claim that Bangalore isn’t home, it’s at the gentle urging of its writers that I’m writing again, even if only in fits and starts. Where is home, after all, if not at the writer’s desk?
You can read the other essays in this series here:
Looking Down over Bengaluru by Vaibhav Gupta, Thorough and Unkempt
Blossom Book House, Bangalore by Rahul Singh, Mehfil
A Walk, A Pause by Mihir Chate, Mihir Chate
Bookless in Bangalore by Vikram Chandrashekar Vikram’s Substack
Bangalore: A personal lore by Siddhesh Raut, Shana, Ded Shana
Bangalore,once by Avinash Shenoy, Off the walls
Bangalore Down the lane of History by Aryan Kavan Gowda, Wonderings of a Wanderer
Nagar Life by Nidhishree Venugopal, General in her Labyrinth
Belonging by Shruthi Iyer, Shruthi Iyer
The Street Teaches You by Karthik, Reading This World
The Wild Heart of Bangalore by Devayani Khare, Geosophy
A Love Letter to Bangalore by Priyanka Sacheti, A Home for Homeless Thoughts
Movies Dates, Bangalore and Them by Amit Charles, AC Notes
A Haven? Awake in Bangalore, by Lavina G, The Nexus Terrain
My love affair with blue skies by Sailee Rane, Sunny climate stormy climate
A City That Builds Belonging by Sathish Seshadri, Strategy & Sustainability
There and Back Again by Ayush, Ayush's Substack
Love the last sentence of this and I'm looking forward to these essays. I feel I've been split between places most of life, my parents were divorced and lived in two different states and now that is as much a part of me as anything else.
I so resonated with your thoughtful words, Richa...as someone who has lived in several cities and countries, I am forever restless and intuitively wondering when/where my next home will be:) However, in the course of this restlessness and wondering, I realise I should be savouring and appreciating the home that I have made out of the place I am presently in. In my cynical moments, I have many bones to pick with Bangalore, ha but I remind myself constantly that it has given me much joy and *cheesy mom alert* my daughter:) And the last line, sigh...for me too, Bangalore has seen a renaissance in my writing style and subjects and for that I am always grateful:)